Cool Your Jets
by jadedly
Summary: Fairytales don't always run so smoothly. Yami Bakura/Dark Necrofear for round five of the YGO Fanfiction Contest


**A/N:** I have no freaking idea. :V

Recommended listening: Weightless by All Time Low. (Doesn't have much to do with the story; it's just what I listened to while writing this. I also listened to Mirage Coordinator (Umineko BGM), but that'd give you the completely wrong impression.)

**Warning:** Crack. Lots and lots of crack. Crossdressing, violence, and slight racism galore! Also harsh language...uh...very harsh language...and fat jokes. God, I'm a terrible person. D: And that's not even all of it - there is also very slight hinted Thiefshipping...I don't even like Thiefshipping, but it pops up in my fics. Who knew?

* * *

_Before you begin the reading of this lovely little tale, I should, as the storyteller, give you fair warning. If you have something against white hair and abrasive humor, and annoying gay blonds who ruin everything, or even females with a fetish for painting themselves blue, you should leave now._

_No? Well...don't say I didn't warn you._

...

...

"A little too much for you, whitey? Gettin' sick of the work?"

Bakura really hated people, and he didn't mind admitting it to himself as he glanced up from his computer (that he had been staring at for at least six hours without rest. He must have looked tired, or else this jerkoff wouldn't be pestering him). They sucked ass. Majorly sucked ass. Especially this particular person, who he liked to call 'superdick', but was more commonly referred to as 'Bossman'...even though he wasn't actually anyone's boss (that prestigious title went to Kaiba, who was also well known for practicing the good religion of Assholism).

'Superdick's' real name was something Bakura had never quite cared to remember, actually, so he just referred to him as 'you' aloud and by his entrancingly vulgar nickname within his thought processes. Bakura had, actually, thought of this conveniently accurate name because of the fact that this adorably jerkass-y coworker of his thought that he was pretty much the best thing since Superman comics.

That, and he was a dick. But that much should have been obvious.

When Bakura had moved from Japan to good ole' (...not) NYC, he'd been at least a little optimistic. Admittedly, not much - pessimism was sort of his thing. Regardless, as a guy fresh out of college with a major in graphic design, he'd been in more than a good mood (okay, he was actually in a sort of delight-overdose, and had gone and gotten wasted and started spinning in the bar while making the occasional helicopter noise. That's not the point) when he'd gotten the offer to come to KaibaCorp, which was known for its holographic technology. Then he'd actually come to New York and discovered that his new job was comprised of major suckage. And to top it all off, he had shitty coworkers. What fun. (Please, do note the sarcasm.)

"No, I'm fine," Bakura shot back, albeit through gritted teeth. "Unlike you, I'm not morbidly obese and can actually handle myself."

"What'd you say?" Bakura smirked as the hulking mass of flesh (more often mistaken as a man) clenched his fists in blatant anger. He knew that he usually took his goading people too far, but it was just so much fun. "I suggest you adjust your attitude, whitey."

Oh, how he loved to annoy this man. It might've been his favorite pasttime. "Well, see, I would," Bakura started, then paused, pretending to choose his words carefully, "but, also unlike you, I'm not a conformist. I don't make a conscious effort to look and act like a typical beef-head on drugs."

Bakura watched as his coworker's - Smith, Smith was his name, Bakura finally recalled - face grew darker with rage and had to fight to hold back a laugh. "Seriously, just get the fuck out, man," Bakura drawled, turning back to his computer and messing with the settings in his design program for the umpteenth time. "You're not going to beat me in a battle of wits, and in all honesty, bickering with you is a waste of time."

"I'll get you for that, you little punk," Smith (really, Bakura did not understand English names) seethed, before he finally stormed out of the room in a clear attempt at being dramatic. The effect was slightly ruined by the fact that he tripped over the threshold of Bakura's office door, but he supposed he had to give the man credit for trying.

Thoroughly satisfied with how that altercation had turned out, Bakura once more turned back to his computer screen. He felt almost like a writer whenever he looked at the thing he was supposed to be creating - it wasn't coming together properly, and he wanted to bash his face in because it wasn't up to standards. Twitching, he grabbed the can of soda sitting on his desk and popped it open, taking a drink instantly, despite the fact that the carbonation burn almost triggered his gag-reflex.

Setting the can back down, he exhaled noisily and wiped his wrist across his mouth. These were the times he was most glad he had an office to himself (something, he grudgingly admitted, that he had nobody but Kaiba to thank for), as he was pretty sure that anybody who shared one with him would go crazy from all the clutter, not to mention all the noise he made. "Damn card games," he mumbled, "why do the designs for these cards have to be so fucking complicated?"

"I take it that the process isn't going well, then," a voice interjected smoothly. Bakura, fully used to these such interruptions by now, simply leaned back in his desk chair and put his head in his hands, sighing frustratedly.

"No, it's not. And distractions are not going to help," Bakura said, voice annoyed, "so if you would be so kind as to leave, it would be appreciated."

Bakura twitched when he heard footsteps coming into the office rather than out, though he really wasn't expecting anything else. "That's really not a respectful way to speak to your superior, is it?" Kaiba asked, although his tone of voice clearly indicated that he didn't give a rat's ass if Bakura was respectful or not. He stopped behind Bakura, looking over his shoulder at the design on the screen. "Tch," he said, rolling his eyes. "That doesn't look even remotely as it should."

"You say that as if I don't already know," Bakura muttered, once again picking up the can of soda. He wondered idly why Kaiba hadn't moved yet as he took a drink, then picked up the image of the monster he was supposed to be designing. It was a grotesque green thing with at least six too many red eyes and stringy black fur on its back. Bakura kind of liked it, actually - he just couldn't get it to look right on the screen...

"I'm not going to pretend I know anything about designing holograms, but the texture of the skin and hair is completely wrong," Kaiba said after a moment of closer observation. "The limbs are too short and the body's too long. I'll give you time to fix it, but I need that finished by the end of the week, Bakura."

"I know," Bakura snapped, glaring at the screen. He knew Kaiba was standing behind him, his arms crossed and that infuriatingly blank look on his face. He fucking knew it. "Can you leave now?"

It was quiet for a moment, until Bakura finally heard a sigh and rustling. "Take the rest of the day off," Kaiba ordered. "You're too irritated to work efficiently, and it's nearly time for you to leave anyway."

Well, that was something that didn't happen often. And Bakura would be damned if he was going to refuse an opportunity to get away from this stupid monster design. He put the paper back up on the desk and threw the empty soda can into the trash, reached around to the back of the computer and shut it off, and stood up as Kaiba stepped back to allow him the space required to do so. Kaiba then proceeded to stick his hand into one of his many coat pockets, withdrawing it again with an envelope in his grasp.

"Here." Bakura stared blankly for a minute as the envelope was held out in front of him, raising one of his eyebrows as he took it. It had no address on the front, so he flipped it over to see if there was anything on the back. Nope. Just blank.

Well, that was kinda weird. "Uh, thanks?" Bakura said, putting it into his jacket pocket and then gathering his stuff so that he could leave.

"I expect you to be here at the regular time tomorrow," Kaiba said importantly, before leaving Bakura's office without another word. Bakura rolled his eyes - typical Kaiba behavior. He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, locking the door behind him as he left the room. He walked through the halls, which were strangely empty, until he came to the elevator; he didn't mind when he found that KaibaCorp's extremely cramped elevator lift was empty, as well.

Bakura pushed the button for the ground floor when the doors closed, then pulled the envelope out of his pocket while he waited to descend from the fortieth floor. He slipped his fingers under the flap and tore it upwards, pulling out a neatly folded card with the KaibaCorp symbol on it in elaborate font. "The hell is this?" he mumbled, flipping it open.

**KAIBACORP BUSINESS DINNER**

**Thursday, November 11th 7:00 pm - 11:00 pm**

**All employees are asked to attend. The dinner party will be held in the KaibaCorp building's second-uppermost floor, beneath Mr. Kaiba's office.**

**Dress formally.**

"Huh. I didn't know the guy actually hosted parties." Bakura snorted, shoving the card back in his pocket. Truth be told, he did kind of want to go, if only because he'd never before been to a business party. Too bad it was required that he dress formally; Bakura was not the type to keep suits in his closet, and Kaiba, in typical Kaiba fashion, had given him the invitation the day of the party. He'd just have to stay at home and try and perfect the stupid hologram on his home PC.

Well, fuck, he really didn't want to do that...maybe he'd go to a bar instead.

Bakura stepped out of the elevator when it finally reached the ground floor, not quite as eager to go home now that he knew there was something that he was going to be missing out on. He left the KaibaCorp building, pulling his jacket closer as he went from the warm, heated air of the building to the cold outside air. It was already dark out, despite it being only five-thirty pm, because of daylight savings time, and that only made the temperature inch ever closer to subzero levels. Bakura, who never took the bus and henceforth didn't keep change on his person to pay for it, had no option but to walk home in the freezing weather.

He sighed. His day just kept getting better and better.

"Well, somebody's being awfully emo tonight!" a voice called, light and almost mocking. Bakura jumped, then turned around instantly. The first sight that greeted him was a man in a lavender midriff shirt and black cargo pants, with long blond hair, dark skin, and a lot of jewelry - the kicker? He was sitting on top of a street lamp. The only thing Bakura could think at this point was 'what the fuck?'.

"Who the hell are you?" Bakura asked, glaring harshly at the weird blond. Said blond smiled brilliantly at him and crossed his legs neatly from his perch atop the light-post.

"My name is Malik Ishtar," he said, that strange smile still on his face as he produced a thin gold stick with a weird ball thing on the top from nowhere, "and I'm your fairy godmother. Or would that be father?" He winked.

Bakura blinked, confused, before his face went utterly blank. "Stop fucking around."

Malik huffed indignantly, crossing his arms and tapping the stick against one of his numerous gold armbands irritatedly. "Well, thank you very much for the insult, you ingrate," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He studied Bakura for a moment, breaking out into a smirk. "They never told me my charge would be so pretty."

"Not cool, man," Bakura mumbled, his glare returning. He actually felt his face heating up as he turned around, which was unacceptable. Completely so. "I'm leaving now."

Malik laughed from behind him, stopping Bakura in his tracks. "Ah, but wasn't there something you wanted to do?" he teased. "Something involving social interactions and fancy clothes?"

Bakura turned around instantly, shooting the deviously grinning Malik a dirty look. "How the hell did you know about that?"

"I told you, I'm your fairy godmother-father," Malik answered, rolling his eyes. "I know all of your secret desires and pet peeves and all that other magical-whatsits." He fingered the gold stick and jumped down from the light-post, landing lightly on his feet in front of Bakura. "Well, since you couldn't go to this business party thing that our dearest Kaiba is hosting due to not having the decent attire - I'm here to make all of your troubles go away. Or something." Malik smiled again, his eyes glinting in a way that could be described as both malicious and playful.

It kinda freaked Bakura out, but he would never willingly admit such a thing. It went against his character rather blatantly.

"In any case," Malik continued, regardless of Bakura's defensive posture. "You certainly can't go to a formal business party in a tee shirt and jeans - which, by the way, I know is all there is in your closet - so my main job of the night is to make you look fit to stand next to business corporates who'll be looking rather sharp." Malik's eyes trailed up and down Bakura, and he smirked. "Shouldn't be too hard, at any rate."

Bakura crossed his arms defensively. "Stop that," he snapped. "I don't take charity, either. I don't need you to get me any clothes for a damn business dinner."

"Tsk, tsk," Malik said sadly, shaking his head sadly and pointing the gold stick at him. "Now, silly, are you done ranting at me? I've got other things I'd like to do, regardless of how nice it would be to spend a night with you." He grinned wickedly as Bakura caught the double meaning in his words. "So! That little detail is out of the way, and we should get started." Malik gestured to the nearby gas station. "It's far too cold for a proper fitting - shall we go inside?"

Bakura opened his mouth to say something, but didn't get the chance to, as Malik walked forward stridently and slapped a hand over his mouth along the way, forcibly dragging him towards the gas station.

"I'll take that as a yes."

* * *

"Have fun, sweetie!" Malik laughed maniacally as he shoved Bakura into the KaibaCorp building.

Wearing a dark purple dress.

"Malik Ishtar, you are so fucking dead!" Bakura yelled, glaring as the supposed 'fairy godmother' ran away laughing his blond head off. Seriously, he was standing in the building that he worked in wearing a dress and there was no way he was going to get out now because the secretary was already pushing him towards the elevator fuck he was crossdressing at a fucking business party -

Okay, he needed to calm down. Take deep breaths, inhale for a count of three, exhale, repeat...

Well, that wasn't working. Okay, it was time to think of a cover story. He still had the invitation card in his jacket, so he could use that to his advantage. Malik, while overall a gigantic thorn in his side, had also provided a jacket that he could wear over the dress that should, at least, cover up the fact that he didn't have a pair of boobs. Thinking quickly as the elevator - still shockingly void of patrons - sped up towards the sixty-fifth floor, Bakura transferred the invitation to the jacket Malik had given him and put said jacket on. He'd ditch his own when he got off the elevator.

Bakura knew someone named Ryou Bakura, who happened to have a sister that looked and acted uncannily like him. Of course, Ryou looked like him, too, with the white hair and brown eyes, but Ryou wasn't a girl. (Neither was he, but goddamn Malik...) Her name was Amane, and he was fairly certain that she was by no means famous, so if he kept a low profile he could say that he was Amane Bakura, not Bakura from the fortieth floor who designed holograms.

He could do this.

Plan mapped out, Bakura squared his shoulders and walked out of the elevator confidently, albeit awkwardly due to not being used to walking in high heels (how on earth did women do it? His feet were going to be dead by the end of the night). He showed his invitation card to the men standing in front of the room where the party was being held, and stepped over the threshold, not at all surprised by the extravagant display.

"Bakura?"

Making careful note to keep his voice a higher pitch than normal, Bakura calmly turned around and raised an eyebrow, the picture of female elegance. "Excuse me? I believe you've mistaken me for someone else."

Rather unfortunately for Bakura, it had been Smith who addressed him, and not a more harmless coworker. Smith flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, miss, terribly sorry, you look just like this man who works on my floor..." he said apologetically.

Bakura was surprised the man was even capable of having manners, but playing the role of female, he couldn't get caught up in his own emotions. "It's fine," he said, giving Smith a fake smile. Bakura was a damn good actor, and he knew it. He was also not above using these skills to escape potential discovery. "If you'll excu..."

"Wait!" Smith said suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Bakura's wrist. Thoroughly annoyed, Bakura smiled thinly and glared at him.

"Please let go of me, " Bakura said, his voice dripping with overly-saccharine politeness. "I really do have things I would like to do."

Smith baulked. "Well, I -"

"Hey, just let the poor girl go. It's a party; there's hardly a shortage of people you can pester."

Bakura looked off to the side and saw what was possibly the strangest thing he'd ever looked at. There was a woman standing there in clunky armor, who didn't have any hair and whose skin was painted dark blue from her head to foot. She looked desperately out of place next to all the formally dressed people there, and he had to wonder how she'd even gotten in in the first place.

Smith was clearly following this thought process, because when he finally rehinged his jaw he squared it and glared at her. "And who, exactly, are you?"

"You can call me Dark Necrofear," she said plainly, adjusting the demented-looking doll she held in her arms to a more comofrtable position. "All you need to know is that I'm a freelance artist with a stage name and I don't take kindly to men who force girls to stick around when they'd clearly rather be somewhere else. So scram."

"I'm on her side," Bakura said, jerking his head towards the Dark Necrofear lady and yanking his wrist out of Smith's grasp. "You need to leave. Now."

Clearly outnumbered, and not wanting to seem like he was harassing anyone, Smith was left with no choice but to huff and stomp away stormily, leaving the blue woman and male in a dress behind.

Bakura turned to 'Dark Necrofear' and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry if this seems rude, considering you just did me a favor, but are you a member of the Blue Man Group?" It was too obvious a question to resist asking.

"Nope," she said. Her voice seemed to constantly have a blunt earnestness to it. "I'm an artist. I'm allowed to do weird things for the sake of my art. Are you actually female?"

Bakura gave her a look that plainly showed how utterly fed up with this he was. "No, I'm not. This stupid _friend _of mine forced me to come to this disguised as our other friend's sister. And if she finds out, she's pretty much going to kick my ass."

"Tough luck, man," Dark Necrofear said, whistling a little, before smirking.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you look damn good in a dress."

...

...

_...And after that, Bakura learned of Necrofear's real name, discovered that crossdressing could be very liberating, laughed because Smith had developed a crush on 'Amane', and finally perfected his hologram._

**End.**

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**A/N:** Oh god don't take any of this seriously...please, please don't. It's all supposed to be in good fun and no offense is intended to anyone in the whole world.

Smith is not a real person and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is accidental and mere coincidence.

Um, yeah. Bakura = Cinderella, Dark Necrofear = Prince Charming (or would that be princess?) and Malik = Fairy Godmother. Extremely gay fairy godmother...which, apparently, was something LB was looking forward to. XD


End file.
